


Sapphire

by Ichigo777



Category: BioShock
Genre: F/M, Original Character(s)
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-07-12
Updated: 2015-07-12
Packaged: 2018-04-09 00:17:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,238
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4326510
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ichigo777/pseuds/Ichigo777
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Andrew Ryan has always been a notorious playboy. After another fight with Diane he spots a girl at a play and decides she's going to be his next girl. However things don't exactly work out as he planned and thus begins Ryan's attempts to win over the anything but ordinary girl.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

The first time he saw her was at one of Sander's musicals. Sander was always writing new plays, mostly ones filled with songs, and getting a new cast to perform each one: almost no one took part in two unless they had exceptional talent as Sander always put it. It had become almost a...tradition for him to attend the opening night – Sander always sent an invitation and he had learned from experience that the artist did not take 'no' for an answer even after 46 refusals. So here he sat again watching the latest one alone.

Diane had gotten mad at him again some time a few weeks ago over dinner. Yes he'd been a tad late, but that was no reason for her to get so wound up. Her ranting about how his job was more important than her had irked him and before he knew it they were having another argument.

It had become an increasingly often thing: them arguing. Normally, it ended with Diane fuming in her seat afterwards for a while until he bought her something. Then there'd be that moment where she paused and eyed whatever it was before taking it and smiling again. Routine.

But that night had been different for some reason. Perhaps it was something he had said or perhaps it was just that time for her, but Diane had been particularly irate. The dinner had ended with her storming off and his shirt (and face) wet with the contents of her glass of Chardonnay.

Oddly, he found he didn't miss her as much as he suspected he might have. There was no one nagging at him that he was working late or trying to pull him away from his paperwork at lunch. The past weeks had been quite restful, but he supposed sooner or later he would have to make up with Diane, again. Or, then again, perhaps not.

Mullins had given him cause to wonder if he should.

Mullins was one of his men in security. He knew only a few by name, mainly the one who worked closely to him or who were frequently doing jobs under his direction. The rest of the hiring and management he normally left up to Sullivan. He knew Lintcher, Kargi, Grazzi, and Mullins best. Lintcher was an expert in cameras and surveillance, Kargi was one of the best interrogators, Grazzi had the uncanny ability to fit into almost any situation despite his advanced age, and Mullins was the type of guy who, normally with a drink and a smile, could get any info out of anyone. Mullins was the youngest of the crew by far, barely thirty, but his skill was undeniable.

These four men, five if you counted Sullivan, were his most trusted and he often allowed them leniency he would dare to gift to others. Lintcher liked to smoke menthol on the job, which he allowed given the fan was on to get rid of the horrid smell. Kargi often asked for advice on dating women; the guy was an absolute moron when it came to dating the opposite sex and he found himself repeating basic tips again and again. Grazzi had Saturdays off: he normally never let any of his men have a 'day off' unless it was due to health (after all Rapture had been founded on hard work), but Grazzi had a young granddaughter to care for and so he had made the rare exception for his oldest employee. Mullins liked to ask questions, mostly about some inventions he had done or something about Rapture, but occasionally they would be something of a more personal nature.

It had been about a week after their argument – the normal amount of time he usually waited before seeking Diane out again. Mullins had shown up in his office with that look in his eyes that he knew meant a question was incoming. Mullins had waited until everyone else had left the room before asking and the question had left him confused.

'Why in the world do you date that woman?'

He knew Mullins obviously meant Diane, but it seemed like such an odd question to him. Why? What did he mean, why?

Mullins had elaborated upon his request. He was the most powerful man in Rapture, the man who could have anything (or anyone) he wanted Mullins had said. So why did he continue to go back to her when she obviously annoyed him, nagged him, argued with him, dragged him places he didn't want to go, interrupted his work, and squandered his money? She was obviously far from the prettiest girl in Rapture, Mullins had continued, so why was he settling for her?

The question caught him off guard: he had never looking at it quite that way before. He found he didn't have an answer for once and Mullins had just left with a smile and a nod.

In a way, Mullins' question had forced him to see things he perhaps hadn't wanted to see before. She was, in truth, everything Mullins had described her to be, so why was he still with her? Perhaps it was the fact that his relationship with her was the longest he'd even been with a single woman. He always played the field; most flings never lasted more than a week though. Perhaps it was the thought of losing the only lasting relationship he had the made him go back again and again. But if they fought like this all the time and had these 'breaks' was it truly a lasting relationship?

His thoughts said 'no'. And so he hadn't gone to find her and she hadn't come to find him.

So now he sat alone, watching the play. In truth he was only half watching. He would have left early if he wasn't so sure Sander was waiting just out of sight to catch him.

It was a rather simplistic plot for a Cohen musical: a group of adventurers in search of a hidden city for fame, treasure, ect. The group of rag-tag adventurers in the story had at last reached a glistening turquoise city. After wandering in awe around they were led before a podium and the curtain parted to reveal the empress.

He felt his breath catch in his throat. She was dressed in a gown blues and greens, with silver jewelry adorned with turquoise and sapphires. Her hair was blue, green, and brown: the effect of peacock feathers upon her head. And from her back there was a pair of wings of blue fading into green, obviously props, that framed the image of her regalia.

But his eyes went to hers: deep blue sapphires, like the darkest and most vibrant of oceans. The exact color he spent many a night staring at outside his window. Suddenly the play was a lot more...interesting.

As the characters below her on stage went about their lines, he saw her eyes sweep across the audience. Their eyes met and he swore she paused for just a moment longer before looking away. Right then and there he knew that he had to have her. 

The play continued, but he was no longer focused on anything but her. The way she stood and then walked down the stairs, the way she held herself up so properly. Even her voice was enthralling to him. As she exited the stage, his eyes stayed glued to the corner of the curtain, hoping to catch another peak at the sapphire-eyed girl. When the story remained focused on the group, he turned his attention to the playbill.

Searching thought it, he found it was Sander's usual style: full of advertisements for his other shows and art. The names and pictures of the cast were absent and he inwardly cursed that he didn't have the girl's name.

Still, perhaps there was an easier way. Sander always approached him after the show, usually to invite him somewhere else – he normally refused. Perhaps today, he'd see if the artist would oblige a tour of the backstage area – more than likely Sander would jump at the rare change. He'd let him lead the way through on a 'tour' until he found the girl – he'd smile, say hello, and get her name. It would easy – after all, almost every girl in Rapture would jump at the chance for a date with him...


	2. Chapter 2

He slammed the door to his home office viciously behind him, rattling the frames hanging on the wall. Sitting down in his leather chair behind his desk, he reached into the bottom drawer and pulled out a bottle of whisky. Pouring himself a glass, he downed it in one swallow, then refilled it. This time he stopped with the glass halfway to his mouth and set it back down on the desk untouched. Grabbing the cigar tin from the corner, he lit one and stared at the amber liquid still sloshing in the glass.

The damn girl had said no.

He thought he had everything figured out – Sander had come over as predicted and it hadn't taken much to get the artist to bring him backstage for a tour. After a little wandering around and small talk he found her in a corner. Her hair was still dyed and her makeup still on, but she had changed from the gown into a simple dress and the jewelry had been carefully piled on the side. She had smiled when he said hello, even shaken his hand for a bit longer than normal while he stared at her eyes. He had even gotten her name: Echo. Echo Arriety.

And then everything had gone to hell.

Sander had babbled on about an after-party and he had asked her if he might steal and dance or two from her. And that girl, Echo, had smiled serenely back at him and refused him with a sweet worded apology about how she didn't 'do parties'. As he stared in semi-shock at the first refusal he'd gotten in god knows how long, Sander had cut in to admonish her. She had risen to her feet in one fluid moment (he noted with great interest that with her heels on she was just the perfect height for him) and stared Sander right in the eye.

“Unlike a certain someone who spends morning, afternoon, and night hopping around from shows to parties like a rabbit with a caffeine problem, I actually have a real job - a job that will actually pay me enough so I can pay my bills. Going to one of your 'after parties' will only accomplish three things: I'll be pursued around the room by the creepy lights guy who can't take 'no' for an answer, I'll wake up with a headache, and I'll wind up getting fired from my job. So no thanks.”

And with that, she had flashed him a soft smile and stormed out the back door leaving Sander gaping after her. It was infuriating to watch her walk away...but then again watching her mouth off to Sander had only intensified his desire to have her. Normally the women he dated would do anything and everything asked of them; having one who refused to be ordered out was...refreshing to see. He had eventually refused the party as well, citing work as his excuse, and headed back home alone.

Puffing on the cigar, he scrawled himself a quick note for the morning to have Sullivan look into the girl. He doubted she had any kind of record, but then again it would prudent to check. She didn't look the type to be a criminal and Sander didn't usual employ anyone with a background. And she didn't appear to have spliced herself given what he had seen; the records would show that too. And, even if there wasn't a record of either, there should be an address in her file. He had to know where to send the flowers, after all.

Speaking of which, he still had to figure out what kind to send. Pulling out a piece of paper, he started writing down ideas for flowers. Roses? No, roses were cliche and romantic – they were the type of flowers Diane loved to get. This...enigma named Echo needed something...different. He crossed out 'roses' on the list.

Peonies? Too bulky, cross them off. Daisies? Too childish, cross them off. Sunflowers? Too bright, cross them off. Forget-me-nots? Too gimmicky, cross them off. Lilies? Too somber, cross them off. Daffodils? Hydrangeas? Pansies? Violets? No, none of them were right - cross them off.

Blinking he looked at the paper filled with crossed out flowers. He sighed and drank the glass of whisky. What was wrong with him?! He was acting worse than Kargi. One (very) pretty girl and he was fumbling over flowers. Had he acted like this when he met her? He was thought he was his usual self, but perhaps not. If he had acted like this, no wonder she had refused him. With a groan, he crumpled the paper up and tossed it into the bin. Putting out his finished cigar, he rose and headed off to bed.

Perhaps what he needed most right now was sleep.

…....................................................................................

At 3:02 AM, he woke up from an odd dream and immediately sat up. Turning the lamp on, he scrambled for the notepad he kept by his bed. Normally he wrote ideas for inventions or improvements here so he didn't forget. Grabbing the pen he wrote a single word – irises. With a satisfied smile, he turned the lamp back off and fell back to sleep.


	3. Chapter 3

In a small tailor shop in Fort Frolic, one Echo Arriety was finishing up the last adjustments to a skirt. As she removed another pin to stitch the hem she found her eyes wandering to the counter. More specifically, to what was on the counter.

It had started as an uneventful day at the shop. 'Alterations Express' was a small shop owned by Echo's boss Miss Nea Maulde and, besides Echo, employed only two other girls. So naturally it had practically been an event when a delivery man had appeared earlier that morning with a large cream colored vase filled bunches of two different colors of irises.

At first, Echo had assumed they were for Miss Nea as she had a few admirers. It was Miss Nea who walked forward to accept the flowers and glanced at the envelope tucked into the flowers. Echo saw her eyebrows rise and then Miss Nea turned to her.

“They're for Echo.”

Echo felt her mouth drop open, what? With shaking hands she took the envelope; it was a thick paper with in-laid swirls along the rim. Sure enough her name was written in an elegant script on the front – who would be sending her flowers? Opening it she pulled the card out and her eyes immediately went to the bottom. A familiar name was scrawled on the bottom – Andrew Ryan. With a slight blush and a scowl, Echo shoved the card into her pocket without even reading the message.

She looked back up expecting to have Avera and Jacie, her coworkers, bothering her about who the note was from. However both girls were fawning over the flowers and didn't even seem to have noticed that she'd opened the note. Walking over, she was grabbed by Avera.

“Look, Echo – aren't they just gorgeous?! Someone must really like you!” She squealed softly.

Echo shrugged her way out of Avera's arms and took a closer look. The flowers were certainly of a good quality with no wilted petals or missing leaves. There were two different varieties of flowers and about 20 or so of each. The vase itself also looked as if it was quite expensive. But then again, given who they were from, money obviously hadn't been an issue. Jacie giggled.

“It's more than just pretty flowers, it's a message.” Jacie said softly. “There's a whole language for flowers; different types can be used to symbolize different things.”

Avera smiled. “Trust you to be a flower expert. What do irises mean?”

Jacie grinned. “They can mean a few different things. Wisdom, hope, valor, and promise in love are just a few of the meanings. But if we look closer at the specific irises chosen, it becomes clear just what the meaning is. The flowers themselves have specific names, you know?”

Jacie walked over to touch the flowers. Running her hand over one, she pointed to the blossom in her hand.

“This one with blue interior and white edging on the petals is called 'Open Your Eyes” she said. “And this one” she moved to point to the other “with a white center, burgundy petals and blue edging is called 'Devotion'. So this arrangement is basically saying 'Open your eyes, I'm devoted to you' or 'Open your eyes, I'll be devoted to you'. So the meaning for the irises in general is most likely 'promise in love'. Sweet, huh?”

Echo found her face going bright red at that implication. She found herself very glad that Miss Nea chose that moment to send them back to work – she had seen the eager looks on Jacie and Avera's faces and realized there had been questions forthcoming.

With a sigh, Echo turned back to her work on the skirt. Being a tailor wasn't the easiest occupation in the world, but it was the type of work Echo knew well. There had been a time, long ago on the world above, where she had had a different occupation. But that hadn't been...good for her and she had quit it. Rapture had been her chance for a brand new start, a start that Echo had greatly desired.

Finishing the skirt's hem, Echo checked it over again. Finding it perfect, she walked the skirt over to the back room and placed it carefully among the finished items ready for pick-up. Echo checked around the room for a moment, ensuring she was alone, before reaching into her pocket and withdrawing the card. Her sapphire eyes scanned the lines of text written in that immaculate script.

Echo Arriety;  
For the lovely young lady whose wondrous performance stole my breath away. I am looking forward to seeing you again soon.  
Andrew Ryan

Echo shoved the card back into her pocket and grabbed the next item from the shelf. With a sigh, she headed back off to the front to fix it.

When 5 pm came and Echo got herself ready to go home, she considered just walking out the door and leaving the flowers behind. But then again, the vase was actually the perfect color to go in her living room. In the back of her mind, she wondered if he had known that or if it had just been a lucky coincidence.

At the last moment she decided to take them, grabbed the vase, and started on her way home. As she passed a dumpster on the way, the urge to dump the flowers out and just keep the vase welled up. But she found she couldn't.

When she got home, Echo placed the vase filled with irises on the coffee table in the living room. Sitting down with a glass of water, she rubbed her hand over the petals softly. 'Open your eyes' and 'devotion', huh? Who would ever have guessed that the great Andrew Ryan was a closet romantic?


End file.
